Expectations
by denise1
Summary: Sometimes, getting your expectations too high can lead to disappointment - Sam and Jack


Expectations

By

Denise

"This is the last time I listen to you," Sam complained, sliding her fingers under her sock and scratching vigorously.

"What are you blaming me for?" Jack answered, hefting the equipment as they walked up the dock towards the cabin.

"You're the one that gave me the can." She shifted her weight and turned her efforts to her other ankle.

"Hey, I distinctly recall telling you not to sit in the grass," he said, closing and locking the screen door.

"You only have one lawn chair, where was I supposed to sit?" she demanded, kicking off her dirty tennis shoes. "I'm taking a bath," she tossed over her shoulder, stalking down the hall.

He winced as he heard the door slam. This was certainly not turning out like he'd planned. When Carter, Sam had finally agreed to come and see his Minnesota cabin, well let's just say Jack O'Neill's fantasy meter was popped into overdrive.

She'd agreed on a Tuesday, three days before a long weekend and he'd spent all three of those days playing out various scenarios in his head. None of them, unfortunately, consisted of her first being disappointed in the rusticness of the place. Then her apparent boredom with spending all day sitting on a dock and finally a proliferation of bug bites.

It wasn't his fault, not totally. The bugs never bothered him. Maybe they were attracted to the naquadah, he thought, remembering how they'd gone after Teal'c.  Nah. That didn't make any sense. They used to bug him, years ago. He remembered his granddad making this concoction…he grinned. Oh yeah, one of Harry's secret recipes.

Buoyed with enthusiasm, he abandoned the fishing gear and went back outside. He just hoped that the small store in town had all the ingredients.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam turned off the water, lying back in the antique tub with a sigh. The water did sooth a bit, but her skin still itched horribly. She watched the fading sunlight dance on the wall and fought the depression that threatened to sweep over her as she sank down in the water. This weekend wasn't going anything like how she'd imagined. Of course, maybe that was the problem. She'd let her expectations get too high.

After more than five years, she knew Jack O'Neill well, certainly well enough not to expect undying declarations of love and romantic gestures.  He could be uncommonly thoughtful at times, and clumsily sweet. Then again, he could be a single-minded asshole when he set his mind to it.

When she'd finally taken him up on his invitation to 'go fishing', oddly enough, the actual act of catching a fish had been the last thing she'd thought she'd be doing.

She should have known better. Despite his continual flaunting of regs and his habitual sarcasm, he was still career military to the core. She snorted and batted at the washcloth floating in the water. At least she hadn't done anything stupid. Or more stupid than snarking off at her CO. He'd forgive her that, probably. He wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue when it came to behavior anyway. And she had a funny feeling he'd cut her about as much slack as Hammond cut him.

She'd just cut her losses, she decided, getting out of the cooling tub and pulling the plug. She dried off, searching her brain for a viable excuse. She rubbed the towel over a bite on her waist, renewing the itching. That's it. The exterminator. She'd just conveniently remember an appointment, hitch a lift to the base and catch a transport back to Colorado Springs.

Her decision made, she dressed quickly and left the small bathroom. She made her way into the living room, surprised to find the cabin empty. "Great," she muttered, trying to remember if he'd said anything about going somewhere. Drawing a blank, she turned on her bare heel and went into the guestroom. She'd just take advantage of the time and pack. And if he still hadn't shown up in a bit, she'd make her own way into town. It was only about five miles and she'd certainly walked further carrying more than the small bag of clothes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack parked his truck, careful not to spill his spoils. He glanced at his watch and sighed. He was probably going to have to do some serious groveling. His quick run into town had turned into much more when he'd slipped out of the general store and gotten a whiff of the aromas emanating from Sadie's Café. Knowing that their supplies were more than a little basic, and that neither he nor Carter would ever have a future career as a chef, he put in an order and sat down to wait figuring they both could use a good meal.

Sadie's menu was nothing exotic, but it was one hundred percent homemade, which meant that it wasn't fast food by any stretch of the imagination. But her Chicken Fried Steak was the best in 10 counties.

He picked up the two Styrofoam containers, struggling a bit to balance them with the large plastic bag weighed down with some of the hard lemonade he knew she liked, and the ingredients for Harry's concoction.

He climbed the steps and went to open the door, taking a quick step back as it opened for him. "Perfect timing, thanks." He breezed past her, aiming for the small dinette set. "I'm sorry it took so long. Sadie's was packed." He set one of the containers in front of the chair, reaching in for a bottle of the lemon brew. "The food should be hot, but I'm afraid so is this. Should probably put it on ice."

Frowning at her silence, he looked up, raising his eyebrows at the sight of her standing there, her bag at her feet. She'd obviously bathed and changed, but instead of the sweats she'd put on the night before, she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. "I wasn't gone that long. It's still Saturday, right?"

"What? Oh yeah. I aah…I forgot. I have an appointment tomorrow and since I can't call and cancel, I thought I'd just head back," she said, referring to the lack of telephones, complicated by a recent storm that had damaged a cell tower, leaving his cabin in a dead zone.

"What kind of an appointment can you have on a Sunday?"

"Exterminator," she said quickly.

Jack looked at her, frowning as she started to squirm under his scrutiny. "No wonder your dad never believed your cover stories, you're a lousy liar."

"Look, colonel, I…this was a mistake."

"I know it hasn't been the most thrilling weekend but…"

"It's not that, it's just…"

"Yes?"

"I should…. go." She jerked her head towards the front door.

"Hang on." He reached in his pocket for his car keys.

"You don't…I was just going to walk…"

"It's five miles."

"Your dinner will get cold."

"In the dark."

"I think I can handle it."

"Another fifteen to the base."

"I'll catch a ride."

"This may be Minnesota but there are nutbars out there," he reminded.

"I'll be fine. The walk will do me good and…"

"Carter! What the hell is going on?" Jack demanded his patience running out.

"Colonel?"

"The last time you were this eager to leave somewhere, we had thirty Jaffa on our tail."

"It's just…it'd be best if I go."

"You're not going to be able to hop a transport tonight. Why don't we have dinner and I'll take you to the base in the morning," he bargained.

She looked from him to the gathering darkness outside and her shoulders slumped. "Ok," she said.

He motioned towards the table and she walked past him, taking a seat at the table. He went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of ice. He watched her pour some of the lemon brew, and then pick at her meal, stirring the chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy into an unappetizing mass.

She played with her food for several more minutes before pushing away from the table. "I'm not really hungry," she excused, grabbing the dinner roll that came with the meal and the glass of hard lemonade. She walked back to her room, snagging her bag along the way.

Hearing her door click shut, he sighed and pushed his meal away as well. Lovely. This was certainly an educational weekend, how to piss off your friends with out really trying. Maybe he shouldn't have asked her to come up here. It was just one of those spur of the moment; you saved the world and get a long weekend, what else is there to do, things. In all honesty, he'd been surprised as hell when she'd agreed to come. He wasn't quite sure what he expected from this weekend. He figured he'd follow her lead. The problem was, he couldn't pick up on her signals. He certainly thought she'd had more in mind than…fishing. But as they spent hour after hour baiting hook after hook he began to think he'd been wrong all along. Maybe her picking up on his slightly amorous thoughts and not feeling the same way, was what had made her so…tense.

Figuring that she'd be ready to leave around dawn, he cleaned up the abandoned dinner and secured the cabin for the night. Trying to decide if he'd go back with her or hang for another couple of days, Jack turned off the lights and went to bed.

He was awakened a few hours later by the sound of movement in the cabin. Instinctively reaching for his gun, he got out of bed, really wishing that he had a phone. He cautiously padded down the hall, noting that Sam's door was ajar. Relaxing a bit, he walked into the living room and saw that the door was open. Through the screen, he could see her sitting on the porch steps. Clicking the safety on his gun he set it down on the table and stepped outside, taking a seat beside her. "Can't sleep?" he asked quietly.

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly, her hand rubbing her bare ankle.

"S'ok," he answered. She stared out across the lake and he joined her, abandoning the fledging conversation. The moon was just starting to rise and reflected off the water, painting it with a broad streak of silvery white. He could hear the random splash of fish jumping out of the water and an occasional cry of one of the loons that lived on the lake. They sat there for several minutes, both listening to the night music. In the corner of his eye, he saw her stop rubbing one ankle and start scratching her side, digging into her skin even through the T-shirt she was wearing. The rasp of her short fingernails against the cotton material sounded abnormally loud in the still of the night. He got to his feet and went back inside, quickly returning. "Gimme your foot," he said, sitting beside her.

"What?"

"Just, give me your foot." He reached down and pulled her left leg into his lap making her quickly readjust her seating on the step, ignoring her squeak of protest. He opened the small Mason jar and stuck his fingers into the viscous mixture within, smearing a bit of it on her ankle.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, bracing herself against the railing that was now at her back.

"Taking care of your chigger bites," he said, massaging the medicine into her skin, his fingers rubbing over about a dozen bumps that ringed her ankle. She'd either been scratching a lot, or she was especially allergic to the little pests. He was suddenly glad that he'd spent the hour or so before he'd went to bed mixing up the ointment.

She hissed her breath in through her teeth. "It stings," she complained.

"The skin's raw. It'll stop in a minute," he assured her, massaging the ointment in further. He finished with her left foot and reached for the other one, pulling it into his lap. He repeated the procedure, glancing over to see that she was leaning her back against the railing, her eyes closed. "Why did you come?" he asked softly.

"What?" she replied, slowly opening her eyes.

"You're obviously not a fan of fishing, why did you come?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Please," he snorted. "One thing you will never do is win the title of Miss Spontaneity," he said, feeling her leg tense under his hands.

"Excuse me?" She shot him a chilling look.

"Carter, the last time you rearranged your lab you made a computer model to see how it'd look. I find it hard to believe that your decision to finally come here was spur of the moment."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does," he insisted. "Come on, what gives?" he encouraged.

She paused, and then sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. "I just…I didn't want any regrets," she said quietly.

"Regrets? We haven't done anything to regret."

She snorted. "That's an understatement," she muttered.  He raised his eyebrows. "I aah…when we were on that ship and the water was coming in I…I wished I'd have come here," she admitted. "So when you asked I figured…what the hell. I'd come fishing."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Well, I can be a little dense at times, but you don't exactly look like you're having the time of your life," he said, still casually massaging her feet.

"I guess I just…" She trailed off.

"Things aren't turning out like you'd imagined?"

She chuckled. "Yeah."

"Expectations can be a bitch," he commiserated. She smiled and closed her eyes, resting her head against the railing. "What did you expect?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Colonel?"

"Don't tell me you and Teal'c didn't talk."

She laughed slightly and straightened her shoulders. "Major Carter, I am most concerned about O'Neill. He believes that a lifeless pond is teeming with aquatic creatures," she said, mimicking her teammate's voice.

Jack chuckled. "He said that?"

Sam nodded. "And made me promise that if you ever tried to bring him up here again, I'd come up with some reason for him to stay on the base, up to and including shooting him."

Jack theatrically put his hand on his chest. "That hurts. That really hurts."

She giggled and absently scratched at her waist. He reached over and fumbled for her shirt. She rolled her eyes and stayed his hand, instead holding out her own. He handed her the jar of ointment and settled back, turning his attention to the lake as she rubbed the soothing balm along the waistband of her sweats. "What's in this stuff anyway?" she asked, slipping her hand under her shirt to treat the bites along her bra line.

"You don't want to know," he dismissed.  "Trust me," he insisted at her curious look.

She shrugged and slid her hand out from under her shirt, wiping it off on her pants leg. "How about you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Other than calling my dad names, anything else run through your mind while we reenacted 'The Abyss'?"

"Aah, you know. Your life can only flash before your eyes so many times before you get bored and stop watching," he said, deliberately casual. "Honestly though…there was a regret or two," he admitted. "The biggest of which was losing our mother ship…again. I think there's a grand galactic conspiracy going on."

"I hate to say it but…I think I agree with dad. Us getting a mother ship might not be a good thing."

"How ya figure that?"

"Considering how Chekov flipped over the X-302, can you imagine the mess we'd have if he got wind of a mother ship?" she asked.

He quirked his head nonchalantly, not wanting to get into argument with her, not now. "I still want one," he said petulantly, causing her to snort in amusement. They fell into a companionable silence, both content to watch the rising moon reflecting off the lake. He watched her shift position, removing her legs from his lap and stretching out on the steps, propping her elbows behind her. "So," he said deliberately casual. "What did you expect to be doing this weekend?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack picked up his tray and made his way over to Sam, Jonas and Teal'c who were seated at one of the tables. Pulling out a chair he frowned at the contents of their trays. "You guys are gonna make fruit an endangered species," he quipped motioning deliberately at his bowl of cereal and cup of coffee. He was used to Sam and her rabbit food, but now it appeared that Jonas and Teal'c were trying to keep every migrant farm worker in the US in work all by themselves.

"The variety of produce you have here is amazing," Jonas enthused. "On Kelowna we can only get what's ripe at a given time of the year," he said, cramming some grapes into his mouth.

Jack shook his head. "What did you guys do this weekend? Nothing I'm gonna hear about I hope," he asked Teal'c and Jonas.

"Teal'c took me camping," Jonas said.

"We spent the night atop Cheyenne Mountain, with General Hammond's blessing," Teal'c reported at Jack's curious look. "Given that we are scheduled for an over night stay on our next mission, Jonas wished to have a…trial run."

"Did ya now? Have fun?"

"It was very…interesting," Jonas said, his mouth full. Instead of reaching for more fruit, he scratched his arm. Jack could see a small red patch peeking from under the rolled up sleeve. "I just hope they don't have biting insects on P3X567," he said, scratching harder. "This itching could drive a person insane."

Sam choked back a laugh. "You should see Janet. She probably has something to help with that."

"I did go see her. She just gave me this cream and told me to find something to occupy my mind so I wouldn't think about it," he said, his voice strained. "Do you have any idea how hard it is NOT to think about how much this itches?" He switched his attention to his other arm.

"I guess it all depends on how you occupy your self," Jack said, shooting Sam a look. She blushed slightly and looked at her watch.

"Oh," she gulped out, pushing back from the table. "I have a conference call with Doctor Michaels in a few minutes. Catch you guys later." She got to her feet and hurried from the room.

"I am curious, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "How do you suggest that Jonas Quinn occupy is mind so as to more easily ignore the stimulus of itching?" he asked, his amber eyes twinkling mischievously.

Fin


End file.
